She was dressed in a black dress and black ballet flats and was carrying blush colored fashion brand pumps. But she was old and so he did what gallant Frenchmen do, he gestured to give his seat to the elderly woman. “Voila.” He says to her and when she doesn’t respond, he says it again but this time with much more French emphasis, “Vwaaaah-la!” Bloody hell he’s talking to me?
No wonder Anna Wintour wears dark glasses.
Speaking of The Devil, I thought Ann Hathaway’s character in The Devil Wears Prada was not at all believable for walking away from the fashion world. If it was me, I imagined, I would have gobbled up all those posh clothes and told Emily to suck an egg. The job is mine, MINE I SAY!
It’s more than a stretch—it’s a chasm—to suggest that what I’ve been doing here in Paris is akin to that movie. (I’ve been attending small shows of emerging designers and there are no celebrities sitting next to me). But I love meeting these emerging designers. They are people who have traded paid jobs to pursue their art. They don’t seem to love or even like the limelight.
But then there’s everyone else and even with the right clothes I don’t fit in because I am here to listen to the designers tell their stories through their clothing. I look around at all the Kims and Kylies, their eyes trained on their phones either on social media or taking selfies and I think, these are not my people I do not enjoy fashion shows.
The 6 o’clock shows didn’t start till 7. After several hours of 20-somethings holding their phones in front of my view to get a better angle I was exhausted. So just like Ann Hathaway’s character on The Devil Wears Prada, I’m walking away. I get to pack sensible shoes and bring my wonderful man with me next trip because I’m hanging up my fashion “career”. And thank you kind sir, I’ll take that seat now.